


More to It Than Just the Crying

by MDJensen



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, buying plants as a coping mechanism, coco puffs as a coping mechanism, honestly they're just getting through however they can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 17:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20157574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: Their friend is gone, and Danny, Steve, and Eric get each other through the first few hours.Set after the season 9 finale and contains SPOILERS.





	More to It Than Just the Crying

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS for season 9 finale, and season 10 set pics!!
> 
> Okay, now that that's done :)
> 
> I don't think it's any secret that Jerry is my absolute favorite. I was definitely freaking out after the finale, and wrote bits and pieces of this. But posting it almost felt like jinxing us, so I didn't. Now that we've seen Jorge back on set for season 10, though, I'm feeling a lot better about it. So I polished this up and am posting it, even though it very much seems that this will not be canon compliant come September :)
> 
> All that said, this was cathartic in a much more real world sense as well. My friend group and I lost one of ours a few years back, and something I remember very clearly is how truly weird the first few hours felt. I expected nothing but crying but there was also laughing and shouting and eating (along with crying), and this story very much came from that experience.

The thing about death is that even when it’s not a surprise it’s still fucking difficult to process. Even though Danny knows damn well that people don’t survive that kind of injury, he’s still caught completely off-guard when the surgeon comes into the room, calls out Jerry’s name, and then tells them the news once they’ve assembled.

And Danny doesn’t get it. Doesn’t believe it. Is still trying to work it out by the time that Adam has already broken down in tears and Tani and Junior are in each other’s arms.

“He’s dead?”

Danny ignores the skeptical looks from Steve and Lou, in favor of squinting at the surgeon, waiting for the punchline.

“Yes,” the surgeon replies. “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

Danny just nods. It’s a while before he remembers to stop.

Adam, meanwhile, half-raises his hand like the shy kid in school. “I’d like to see him,” he gets out.

“Of course. It shouldn’t be long; someone will come and get you when you can. And, if any of you have any questions for me, I’ll answer them.”

Nobody does.

And then it catches up to Danny, like your stomach catching up to you at the end of a roller coaster ride, and it’s just as awful. “Oh my god,” he whispers, burying his face in his hands. Somebody touches his shoulder. “Oh my god, this is a fucking joke. This is a fucking joke.” He looks up, looks around.

Junior kisses Tani’s forehead. And Eric makes a horrible noise, slaps a hand to his mouth, and flees.

Danny loses his balance a little, when he tries to follow. Steve catches him by the elbow, holds on while he rights himself. “You should sit down,” he whispers, but Danny shakes his head.

“Nn,” he grunts. “Lemme—lemme go with him. Lemme go, man.”

Steve does. He steps aside and lets Danny follow Eric, who is easy to find by the sound of vomiting in the nearest restroom.

Danny raps his knuckles against the tawny wood. “It’s me.” There’s a pause, during which Danny wonders if his now fully-adult nephew doesn’t actually want to be kept company while he pukes. Then the door opens, just by an inch.

It’s a no-stall bathroom; good, privacy for the breakdown. Danny slides in and locks the door behind him.

Eric’s thrown up in the sink, despite being two feet away from a trash can and four from a toilet. By now, it seems, he’s noticed his mistake. His eyes move blearily between the mess and Danny’s face, and even though there’s been plenty of times that Danny’s been less than kind to his nephew, this won’t be one of them.

He helps Eric half-sit, leaning his skinny butt against the hand rail on the wall. Then he wets some paper towels. Wipes Eric’s nose and mouth and blots his eyes, and leaves one damp towel across the back of his overwarm neck.

Then he lets Eric be for a minute. Schleps through the highly unpleasant task of cleaning out the sink as best he can, flashing back to when five-year-old Eric had a stomach bug and cried until Matty let him sleep in his bed (but somehow it was still Danny who ended up doing all the midnight laundry).

“Sorry, Uncle D,” Eric croaks, once Danny’s done all he can and sets about scrubbing his hands at the now-unclogged sink.

“Don’t fucking apologize,” Danny snaps. He gives his hands a cursory dry on the sides of his slacks, then turns back to his nephew and pulls him close.

Eric slumps weakly against Danny’s chest. For a minute there’s just hiccupy crying; then Eric goes stiff, lurches away, and throws up again, in the toilet this time.

Danny’s knee aches as he crouches at Eric’s side. He tries to focus on the pain, use it to ignore the way Eric’s now sobbing into the toilet bowl; but his mind just doesn’t work like that.

His knee hurts. His knee hurting does not take away from everything else hurting.

Jerry’s dead. What the actual, ever-living fuck.

He cleans Eric up again. Coaches him through a few rounds of box breathing, and when he seems calm enough, leads him back out to the waiting room. It’s empty but for Tani and Junior. They’re side by side, hand in hand, and they look up in unison as Danny and Eric enter.

“They said not everybody at once,” Junior explains, at Danny’s expression. “Adam seemed like he really needed to go first, so Captain Grover went with him.”

“Where’s Steve?”

“I’m not really sure.”

Fuck. Fuck. Danny knows where he is. He’s off somewhere, alone, blaming himself, hating himself.

It’s going to be harder than usual, convincing him not to.

“I’m fine, Uncle D,” Eric rasps, speaking for the first time in an appreciable while. “I’ll just wait with these guys.”

“Yeah,” Tani replies, and Junior nods. “You better go find McGarrett.”

Danny tries not to sigh. Leaving Eric seems just as irresponsible as not going after Steve—but at least Eric won’t be alone, if he leaves him here.

Danny nods. Eric flops down on Junior’s other side, and the last thing Danny sees is Tani reaching over to squeeze his hand.

He has no idea where to start. He wanders the wing aimlessly, for a few minutes, until a vaguely familiar nurse interrupts his daze.

“You’re looking for Jerry Ortega?”

Danny nods, even though he’s not. He knows where Jerry is. He’s dead.

“You can follow me, sir,” the nurse replies, gently. It seems like a whole lot of effort to explain what he’s actually up to, so Danny follows her, to a small, sterile room, with his friend’s body at the center.

He’s supposed to be finding Steve.

Steve is going to take this harder than he is.

But for the first time, Danny thinks that maybe he’s taking it hard, too. For a moment he can only stare. Jerry’s been cleaned up pretty well, but there’s nothing to be done about the greyness or the stiffness that makes him look, well—

Dead.

The room isn’t empty. At the foot of the bed, Lou stands with one arm around Adam’s hitching back.

“Hey, Lou,” Danny mumbles. “Hey, babe,” he adds, to Adam, who meets Danny’s eyes then breaks down in fresh tears. Danny tugs him away from Lou, gives him a big bear hug. The feeling of someone else sobbing against his shoulder is comforting in a way that it really shouldn’t be.

“Is Eric okay?” Lou asks, quietly.

“Yeah, he puked. He’s better now.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s with Junior and Tani now.”

“Good.”

“You seen Steve?”

Lou shakes his head.

Adam’s quieted, marginally, and he pulls away from Danny’s chest. The three of them stand, regarding the bed, and what’s on it.

There’s no sound in the room but Adam trying to swallow down his weeping.

“Needa find Steve,” Danny says, finally.

“I’m here.”

The voice is a true surprise, and Danny actually feels himself startle. “Hey,” Steve adds, softer, and slips an arm around Danny’s shoulder.

Steve hasn’t been crying. He will, maybe today or maybe a couple of days from now, and Danny knows he’ll probably be there for it. But it hasn’t happened yet.

Danny doesn’t know when he himself will cry about it. Doesn’t know if he’ll cry about it at all. Lately he finds that grief is more of an emptiness than an emotion.

“How’s Eric?” Steve asks.

“He’s a mess. This is so fucked up, man.”

“I know.”

There’s a soft noise, and Danny and Steve both look sideways to find Adam waving off Lou’s anxious hovering. “I’m fine,” he rasps. “Seriously, I love you, man, but you’re makin’ it harder for me to calm down.”

Danny slings his arm around Steve’s waist. He stares at Jerry’s body, though even as he does this, he feels himself looking _through_ it more than at it.

He’s supposed to _do_ something, right? Say goodbye or something?

How the fuck do you do that?

“We should let the other guys get in here,” Lou murmurs, eventually. “You ready, Adam?”

Danny glances up to find Adam shaking his head, almost spasmodically.

“I got you, baby,” Lou murmurs, as Adam dissolves once again into tears. He leans heavily into Lou’s side, looking younger and smaller than Danny ever imagined he could. “Fellas,” Lou adds, glancing at Steve and Danny, “I’m gonna take him home.”

“All right,” Steve replies. His voice is hoarse but otherwise normal. “Get some sleep, both of you. I’ll call you if we catch a case; if not, take tomorrow off too.”

Adam just nods, and Lou shepherds him from the room.

When they’re gone, Steve takes his arm away. “Danny?”

“Mm?”

“I hate to ask this, man,” Steve says, voice unbreaking but thinner than usual. “But could you give me a minute, like, just me an’ him?”

“So you can apologize?” Danny growls. “Fucking flog yourself?”

“No, just—so I can thank him. I just needa thank him.”

“Yeah,” Danny gets out, just barely. He knocks his fist against Steve’s back, then, with one last look at Jerry, he leaves.

He finds the other three right where he left them. “Steve just asked for a minute alone,” Danny reports, after clearing his throat a bit. “So give it a little while, then you guys are good to go.”

They nod. Danny realizes that Tani’s been crying.

“We’re gonna find some coffee first,” Junior says, pulling himself and Tani to their feet. “Then we’ll go. Thanks, detective.”

Eric doesn’t move. When the others are clear, and it’s just them in the room, he buries his face in his hands.

Beneath his fingers, his lips twist badly.

Danny sits beside him. Rubs his back until he finally leans close and whispers exactly what Danny was expecting him to.

“_I don’t wanna see him_.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s bad. But I don’t. I don’t wanna see him.”

Danny just shushes, and hugs his nephew as he starts to cry again.

Not long after, Steve returns. “You ready?” he asks, as though there’s no question in the world about whether or not they’ll leave together.

Well—there isn’t, really. Not to mention that Steve rode over in the ambulance, and doesn’t have his truck.

Eric got a ride with Danny. Hopefully Steve knows this, and understands that it’s not going to be just the two of them, like it might have been otherwise.

If he needs one-on-one Danny time for his breakdown, it’s going to have to wait.

Danny doesn’t voice this, just gets to his feet and hands Steve the keys. Eric sticks to Danny’s side as tightly as he did thirty years ago.

At the car they take their positions: Steve in the driver’s seat, Danny shotgun, Eric in the back. Steve sticks the keys in the ignition—but doesn’t turn them.

“We needa call Chin,” he murmurs.

The sun’s just rising, which means it’s already up in California. Still early, but Chin will be awake.

“You want me to?” It feels like he should offer, though Steve, of course, won’t accept.

“No. I got it.”

Steve tugs his phone from his pocket and swings the door open; for a moment the car beeps indignantly, thinking its keys have been forgotten, but it shuts up when the door closes again.

Steve walks too far for Danny to hear anything. He wonders whose sake that’s for.

A few minutes pass. Danny does nothing but stare at the bug guts on his windshield.

Then the door opens again, and Steve gets in. He looks pale and shaken and unutterably tired, but he flashes a familiar smile when Danny looks up in greeting.

“How’d he take it?”

“He’s Chin. He took it like Chin.” Steve sniffs, and wipes his nose on the back of one hand. “But Abby hadn’t left for work yet, so.”

“That’s good.”

“He said he’d call Kono.”

“Okay.”

“An’ Adam and Lou are— callin’ Jerry’s mom.”

Out of nowhere Steve’s voice cracks. Danny reaches over and squeezes his knee.

Eric clears his throat, with effort. “Guess I should call his other friends. ‘cause I’ve got Crystal’s number. I dunno, if I should wait a little while—“

“It’s early,” Steve cuts in.

“It’s early. I dunno when she wakes up.”

“Give it an hour or two.”

“I wanna get her before work, though. I’m just—I’m gonna text her, and tell her to call me when she gets up. Okay,” he adds. “Done.”

A moment later, all three of them startle at the ringtone.

“Is that her?”

“No, sorry, it’s—it’s six, it’s my alarm.”

Danny shivers. Meets Steve’s eyes as Eric fumbles with his phone.

“He died today, right?” Danny whispers. “Or—yesterday?”

“Today.”

“Fuckin’ lost track of time in there. Those places are a fuckin’ time warp.”

“He fought,” Steve says, slowly. “He hung in there for _hours_.”

“Fuckin’ pointless,” Danny spits, batting away Steve’s hand when he moves it close. “Get hit like that, you just let go, man. Just _let go_.”

There’s a small, squeaky noise in the backseat, and Danny glances over his shoulder to find Eric in tears again. “Sorry,” he whispers.

Blood covers Danny’s vision. “Can you stop fucking saying you’re sorry?!” He twists in his seat. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re sorry, we get it, Eric! You don’t have to—”

“Danny—”

“—say it every—”

“—_Danny_!”

“—every ten fucking seconds, man!” Danny finishes, despite Steve’s efforts to stop him halfway. He flops back in his seat, pulse racing.

“Danny,” Steve repeats, leaning in a bit. “I know you’re angry, but you’re not angry with Eric.”

“Don’t you fucking tell me who I’m angry with! You’re at the top of the fucking list!”

Oops.

Not an opportune time, for these words; but Danny doesn’t have the energy to take it back. “You have been for nine years,” he adds, instead, hoping Steve will understand that Danny’s no madder at him than usual.

He puts his head down, lets it hang there for a moment.

Steve’s the one to break the silence; but when he does, he doesn’t sound particularly upset. “So.”

“So?” Danny lifts his head, just enough to see Steve’s face.

“Six o’clock means Liliha just opened,” Steve says, voice and eyebrows raising. The half-question lingers, unanswered, for a moment.

Danny takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “If you’re asking if I want coco puffs,” he rasps, “the answer is: fucking yes, I fucking want coco puffs—”

“_Holy fuck that sounds so good_,” Eric adds, in a rush. Danny laughs, then the others join in; it’s the jittery laugh of kids just barely getting away with something.

“Drive the fucking car, man,” Danny grinds out. Steve turns the key, and the engine comes to life.

It’s a short drive, and there’s not much traffic yet. Danny closes his eyes, lets himself enjoy the feeling of being in motion.

Soon Steve’s swinging the car into a street spot. Then he climbs out with a muttered back-in-a-minute, leaving Danny and Eric alone.

It’s not tension Danny feels. It’s sort of impossible to work up real tension with a person you’ve literally known for 75% of your life, which is 100% of theirs. Still he feels a little bad for snapping. Enough so that he searches for something to say, just to break the silence that he wouldn’t usually mind.

He can’t think of anything, but Eric breaks it anyway.

“So when Matty died,” he begins, quietly, “I went out and—bought, like, five spider plants.”

Not how he’d been expecting that sentence to end, but Danny nods. “Guess you do have a lot of plants.”

“Well, spider plants, they— they make these little spider babies. Called spiderlings. And if you plant them, um, if you stick ‘em in dirt they grow. I’ve grown like twenty, twenty-five, over the years. Sometimes I give ‘em to ladies I’m trying to impress, like, here, here’s a spider plant of my love.”

Danny cranes to see if Steve’s coming yet; he isn’t.

“You know Stella fucking hates it, that you don’t call him Uncle Matty.”

“I know.” Eric sighs. “But like, we were six years apart, man. For the longest time I actually thought we _were_ brothers.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s still not coming. “He was almost as close in age to you as he was to me.”

Eric says nothing. Danny stares out the window and wishes it were raining; wishes he had the visual metaphor of a bunch of little raindrops gobbling each other up like separate griefs until there’s just one undulating, undifferentiated mass.

“Anyway,” Eric mumbles. “Later, I think I might go buy some plants. Try to cheer myself up.”

“I want a spider plant,” Danny says, pushing himself upright. “If you’re just giving these things away. You never asked me if I wanted one. You never— hey, Steve,” he adds, as the door opens, “this kid has been giving out baby spider plants to girls he likes and he hasn’t even asked his uncle if he wants one. Jeez, babe, did you leave any for the other customers?”

It looks like Steve’s bought half the bakery. In addition to the box that Danny knows holds a dozen coco puffs, there’s another huge box of what must be pastries, and few little bags of probably-hot things. Ooh, maybe ham and cheese rolls.

Steve blinks, and if he were anyone else Danny might almost call his expression disoriented. “I dunno, dude. Everything just looked really good.”

“How much—?” Eric begins, but Steve interrupts.

“Seriously? Don’t,” he says, and Eric murmurs vaguely embarrassed thanks before going silent.

Danny accepts the other packages with care as Steve cracks open the coco puffs. The smell of butter and vanilla fills the car, and Danny groans, loudly. Steve passes them out, takes one for himself, and balances the box on the armrest.

For a minute there’s nothing on Danny’s mind but pastry and icing and pudding-y filling. It’s a welcome distraction. He savors it, shutting out awareness of the other two in the car, so that he’s vaguely surprised when he reaches for a second pastry to find the box nearly empty.

Danny breaks from his fog, eyes his companions. Based on the way they’re gulping theirs down—and on empty, upset bellies to boot—he gives it a 10% chance that at least one of them will end up rehoming their pastries onto the side of the road before the drive is done. Maybe even 20%.

And maybe that thought should kill his own appetite, but it doesn’t, because coco puffs are fucking _good_.

Coco puffs are fucking good and comforting and his cholesterol was high last time he had a check-up and he should probably care but fuck it because Jerry’s cholesterol was probably high too but what killed him was the bullet through his neck.

So Danny’s going to eat his fucking coco puffs. All four, thank you very fucking much. And then he might even take a look at the rest of the shit Steve bought.

Eric slows down eventually; Steve doesn’t. He takes the other stuff back from Danny and helps himself to a cherry Danish—

Which was Jerry’s favorite, and now Danny’s lost his appetite. Now that there’s nothing on his lap, he pulls his feet up onto the seat (it’s his car; he can fucking do that) and presses his face to his knees.

He thinks about Chin giving him his first coco puff. God, it was eight or nine years ago. Then he thinks about how Chin is two thousand miles away now, and wonders if he’s taking the day off work.

Probably not. Almost definitely not. There’s a part of Danny that doesn’t even want to, but he’s officially gone a full day without sleep now, so that’s got to be the priority.

Steve’s eating a donut now and Danny groans. He’s cleaned up puke once already today, and he’s not exactly itching to do it again.

He’s honestly about to tell the guy to slow down when Eric’s phone goes off again. Danny glances at the clock, sees it’s 6:47—that’s not an alarm.

He looks at Steve, and puts his feet down, as Eric clears his throat and answers.

“Hey, Crystal. Um, no. No, that’s why I called— hey, are you home? You’re not driving or—? Yeah, I— I’m literally so freaking sorry to have to tell you this but— Jerry died. A few hours ago.” Danny hears the tears start up again. “He was shot last night, and they tried, but—yeah. Yeah, no— he— he—“

Eric stops. Swallows harshly. “He saved our commander’s life,” Eric grits out, and in the driver’s seat Steve puts his donut down. Stops Danny, when he tries to lay a hand on his knee.

“He pushed him out of the way,” Eric’s saying. “It was— I mean— yeah. I know. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. Are you okay? Okay, yeah,” Eric laughs, sobs. “That’s a stupid question. I’ll— I’ll let you go— yeah, of course I will. I’ll let you know. Bye, Crys. Okay. Bye.”

For a moment, they’re silent. In the driver’s seat, Steve is clenching his jaw so hard that Danny wonders if he’s cracked any teeth.

Eric’s curled in on himself, hands in his hair, arms blocking his face. The sound he’s making isn’t crying but it’s somehow worse, and Danny knows he should get in the backseat with him.

But he’s just. Too. Tired.

Then Steve dumps all the bakery stuff back in his lap, and the next thing Danny knows, Steve’s climbing in besides Eric. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, bringing Eric close. “Man, it’s okay. This sucks. You can cry about it, it’s okay.”

There’s a pause. Danny doesn’t know if Eric’s holding back because it’s Steve, or just because, but either way it doesn’t last long. There’s a high, thin noise. Then limbs moving against leather seats, and Steve’s voice, shushing gently.

Danny turns his head, slightly. Watches from the corner of his eye while Eric blubbers against Steve’s chest. “I know,” Steve murmurs; and he sounds pretty close to crying himself. “I know, buddy. Hey, hey, I know.”

The keys are in the ignition. Danny turns it to battery and switches the radio on, to give Eric some noise and therefore a little privacy.

Whatever station’s on is playing commercials. Eric bawls through ads for a supermarket, a jewelery store, and a phone plan. After that, Danny zones out.

He zones back in to the sound of Eric’s laughter, as the talk show guys take calls about the stupidest things they’ve ever seen while driving. Steve’s laughing too, and Danny looks back again.

Eric catches his eye, and smiles a little.

“Thanks, commander,” he whispers, scrubbing at his face. “‘m okay now.”

Steve musses his hair. “Okay. Let’s get you home, buddy.”

They’re silent on the drive to Eric’s apartment. Around them, the first wave of commuter traffic is forming, and Danny thinks again about Chin, and if he’s called Kono yet, and if Crystal has called Jerry’s other friends.

At Eric’s place, Steve forces the last of the coco puffs on him. Then he gets out of the car and gives him a massive bear hug, the kind that lasts half a minute, the kind that makes Danny feel like that kind of thing is a competition even though it isn’t.

So he gets out too. Hugs Eric for a long fucking time, while the corner of the coco puff box presses sharply into his forearm, and tears soak warmly into his shirt.

When Eric finally pulls back, Danny dries his face with his thumbs. Then they said their I-love-you’s, and Eric schleps up the stairs and disappears inside.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Steve asks, when Danny falls bonelessly into the passenger’s seat.

“Don’t be stupid,” Danny mutters. “Besides, it’s my car. I’d be dropping you off home.”

“Do you want to drop me off home?”

Danny laughs, weakly. “I do not.”

So Steve drives them to his house. In silence, Steve unlocks the door, and Danny carries the bakery stuff to the fridge.

In the living room they find that Eddie’s made a mess, and who can blame him? Danny doesn’t even want to think about how long he’s been alone. He takes him outside, then fills his food and water bowls, while Steve scrubs the floor.

At some point the cat appears, screaming to be fed. Danny gives it a good scowl, but feeds it too, because Steve’s still cleaning. That done, he lies down on the couch.

Steve wanders over at some point; he nudges Danny’s feet out of the way to sit, but doesn’t complain when Danny puts them right back in his lap. It’s easier to breathe with him there, even though he smells like carpet cleaner and piss. Danny closes his eyes, not quite dozing but enjoying the temporary lack of misery he’s stumbled upon somehow.

Then his phone vibrates, and Steve’s with it. They pull them out and Danny sees a group text between the two of them, Chin, and Kono.

Chin’s message reads:

_I wanted to confirm that I just told Kono. We’re both looking for flights in the next few days. In the meantime, call us if you need anything, and we’ll be thinking of you xCHK_

Whatever calm Danny gathered evaporates like mist. Not specifically because of Chin, but because of the process of _telling people_, of being the one to have to do some of that, and because it just hit him. It Just hit him, who else he has to tell.

“Kids’ll be ready for school by now,” he muses aloud. “I shoulda—”

“Waiting a few hours to tell them won’t change anything, man.” Steve bumps a fist on Danny’s leg. “Let ‘em have their day, you get some sleep, and you tell ‘em tonight.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll come with you, if you want. To have someone there.”

“Okay,” Danny replies, automatically, though Steve doesn’t have to make the effort if he doesn’t want to. He’ll have backup; Rachel will be there.

Although—that doesn’t quite feel right. Rachel never really liked Jerry. Probably because he was her polar opposite in every possible way— huge and hairy and rarely well-dressed— and eager and excitable and so fucking _sincere_, not a dishonest bone in his body— not a single motivation for any of his actions besides the pursuit of justice and, _only_ after that, making himself and those around him happy— God, he knew how to make Charlie laugh! Danny had maybe felt a little crazy, trusting Jerry to babysit that first time, but he’d come home to cardboard castles and toilet paper swords and a son who knew everything there was to know about dragons, and Charlie had hugged Jerry goodbye and called him _uncle_ without even being reminded to—

And now Jerry’s gone. No more hugs, no more storytime. No more nothing, just gone, for good.

And then Danny’s crying, out of nowhere. Didn’t even have time to catch his breath first. “You’ll come with me?” he bawls, into his hands.

“Of course.” Steve’s manhandling him now, swinging Danny’s feet down to the floor so that he can slide closer, get him in his arms.

“To tell ‘em? You’ll come with me?”

“Shh, shh, I’m here. I’ll come. Of course I will.”

“This is bullshit,” Danny gasps, ugly-sobbing now, into Steve’s shoulder.

“I know. I know.”

“It’s bullshit, Steve. Fucking bullshit. I can’t do this, man, I can’t—I can’t believe it— I can’t believe it’s fucking real—”

Time passes. “You want a drink, buddy?” Steve asks, at some point, and Danny takes that to mean that he’s done crying now. He scrubs his eyes.

“’s eight in the morning.”

“I meant water.”

“Fuck it,” Danny grunts. “No sleep means it’s still last night. Means, I would have a beer if you would have a beer.”

“I’d have a beer,” Steve replies, with a worn-out smile. Danny rubs his eyes again, and goes to wash his face while Steve heads into the kitchen. They meet back on the couch a minute later, and Steve passes Danny a Longboard.

“To Jerry,” Steve says; his voice trembles, but his hand is steady.

“To Jerry,” Danny replies, nearly missing Steve’s bottle when they go to clink them. He’s having exactly the opposite problem. They settle together again, shoulder-to-shoulder this time.

When their drinks are empty, they put them on the coffee table; Steve stares at them with open misery. “You gonna go home?”

“You want me to go home?”

Steve’s mouth works, starting a few different answers, before he gives up and sighs. “No. I want company.”

“’kay. It’s gonna be unconscious company, though.”

“That’s fine. You goin’ for couch or guest bed? Or do you wanna bunk with me?”

“Gonna go for the option with no stairs,” Danny grunts, then wonders if maybe Steve needed a different answer. “You going for bed or recliner?”

“Bed. No offense.”

“No offense.”

“Hey, just—just don’t leave without letting me know you’re leaving, okay? Even if I’m still sleeping—”

“Hey,” Danny interrupts, a little sharply. “Stop it. Stop doin’ that. You know damn well I’m gonna stay here today. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“An’ even on a normal day, I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Steve’s lip wobbles, just the littlest bit. “Yeah,” he repeats, rubbing his forehead.

“Go sleep. You text me if you need me, an’ if I don’t answer, you just come down here and wake me up.”

By now the only answer he gets is a nod.

“C’mere,” Danny grunts, pulling Steve against his chest. “C’mere. I love you.”

“Love you,” Steve echoes, gruffly.

“I love you a whole fucking lot, okay. Try to sleep. Try to get some sleep.”

Steve sniffles, and nods against Danny’s shoulder. He pulls away.

Danny lets him, though he thinks about holding on. “You settin’ an alarm?”

“Mm.”

“When for?”

“Like, noon, prob’ly. Or else I’ll never sleep tonight.”

“Jesus. Wake me up when you’re done makin’ lunch, okay?”

“I’ll wake you when I’m done _eating_ lunch,” Steve shoots back. Just like Grace used to, he gets petulant when he’s sleepy.

Danny thumps him on the back. “Go. You’re on my bed.”

“Mm. ‘m goin’. 'night, Danno.”

“’night,” Danny whispers. Then he lies down, curls up, and closes his eyes against the daylight.


End file.
